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User blog:MichaelDiaz101/Survival of Scum: Part 2
January 15th, 2009, Liberty City, 10:25 AM Akara opened her eyes and breathed in the air, foreign air, clean air. America was far greater then she even anticipated. Of course, her homeland is infamous for its prolific war zone, and Chinese military influence pushing the country into tribunal poverty. Here in America it felt like a definite sense of security. Of course the feds could be hot on her trail but Tim had assured her that their iliegal foray into Liberty City was uncharted and, possibly, unobserved. Even if it was many trade vessels enter the port daily. There was nothing obscure about their ship, as compared to all the other marked export vessels. Akara sat up and stretched, she hadn't realized just how long her body had been demanding rest. She noted every crevice that popped and creaked as she moved her previously stiff bones around. The couch was noticably comfortable, and a decent substitute for a voyage cot. She peered around, the house was small but nourished in beautiful delicate items such as paintings and vases. The morning was quiet and the sun had vibrantly crossed the entire room with beautiful reconciliation. After rising a soothing female Irish voice piped up from the other side of the room. "Want some eggs, deary?" She asked. "Yes, I appreciate the nourisment that you are providing for me." Akara replied then went and sat back down on the couch. The house was lavish compared to what she was accustomed too, which isn't much considering her background. Finally the eggs were done, and Akara managed to get her fill when Timothy finally came into the room. Looking worse for wares. "Greetings, aunt Maureen." Tim said to his aunt. He walked up and hugged her tightly, before pecking her on the cheek. "It's been nearly a decade." Maureen, the frail, but ultimately strong elderly woman looked soft as her nephew greeted her. Akara was delighted to share this moment with them, even if they were mere strangers to her. Finally Tim spoke to her. "So, Akara, this is me aunt Maureen." Timothy introduced his new company to his family, and she greeted this new stranger happily. They all began to engage in small talk, most notably the talk about Timothy's cousin, Packie, who has just recently moved to Los Santos. Blaine County, 8:56 AM Jonathan disembarked the pickup and grabbed his assault rifle. "Ron, get out from under the fucking seat, you pussy!" He screamed at Trevor's little henchman. Ron slowly, but surely, swept out of the vehicle and looked around his surroundings. "So, where are these little yuppy fags?" Jonathan asked, nonchollantly. On que, the richocet of a heavy bullet strafed him by. The trajectory was far off by he could still sense the bullet wizzing by his head. Jonathan noticed the target sitting high on a rocky incline and open fired. Finally the man fell in a hailstorm of bullets. "Hey, Ron." Jonathan started, "Is that the bitch that fucked you in prison?" He made sure to provide emphasis on his taunting of Ron. The two have known each other for such a long time, and their acquaintance wasn't through a common friendship, either. Just then common lineage of yuppy combatants stormed down the hill. Jonathan, with such finese dispatched of two of them and injured the other. Jonathan approached his well dressed adversary. "Hey, how ya doing?" He says, almost with eery calmness, as he crouches down next to his withering opponent. "So, did you think it was okay to attack this bitch?" Jonathan asks. "Hey!" Ron protested, but Jonathan was sure to silence him effectively. "Listen, I know times are tough, the recession and everything, but going after bums like him really aggravates me." Jonathan stood up and put the final bullet between his eyes, with Ron watching on in total awe. "Get in the car." Jon ordered, "I wanna get high." They finally drove off back to Sandy Shores. Bullworth Town, 12:37 PM Returning to the town which damned him many years ago James didn't quite expect the warm welcome, or the extravagence of drinks being passed around the rotund table in celebratory fashion. In fact, he received no welcome at all. He got his flight around ten and landed just moments ago. From the airport was a short breadth to take to Bullworth town. Once there he was faced with the many points of a broken timeframe. Returning to his days as a student at the academy. James had graduated in 1985 and was then on centered on commencing his military career. In which he saw Kuwait and then pressed on into the FIB facing his discharge. The stepping point was this very, unimpressive little burden. Bullworth. Upon arriving in New Coventry James was swept with a multitude of various emotions. His impression upon this little paupers plop hadn't really changed in the almost twenty years since he had left, in fact the grand culture had changed dramatically and began to dissolve under the threatened econonmy, and conclusion of the recession that hit the United States. This place hasn't aged well, Michael pondered to himself. Deep in thought as he looked at his raggid neighborhood. He began to feel rather guilty, all these years with zero communication to his mother of all people. His childhood was harkened by many issues and his mother was one that maintained a still stature in holding him back. His father died fighting in Vietnam and so his mother, in spite of all his stipulation, stood against him on his conquest to attain the same status his father had. Plus he believed service could help his family's financial climate. The 90's were tough and after he returned from Kuwait he left her to her own accordance. A decision he made with much remorse. James made his way to the Blue Skies park, nostalgia began to creep in as he remembered the city that molded him from adolescence to adulthood. When he was sixteen he had worked in the Industrial Area at the docks, it was tough work, this generation surely wouldn't understand the hardwrok that was recquired of them. According to recent reports at the FIB board of directors terrorist cells have been unloading arms here in Bullworth. The little town was not suspected as being the front for terrorism and, as such, terrorists were able to route the encroaching law firm that sought them out. James was dispatched to cripple their fortress here. A minor asset at the United Liberty Paper by the name of Karen had forwarded him the information regarding this. She actually sought out an assault on the docks that housed them, but the FIB seized her information and took full responsibility of it. After arriving at the docks he began to look for his informant, it was quiet. Apparently the informant was aware that he was coming. As he stepped foot into one of the storage houses a voice rang behind him. "You're late." James, quick on his heels, withdrew his pistol and turned to comfront the stranger. "Hey, I'm with you!" The stranger said, stepping free of the shadows. He was tall, lanky, of Turkish descent. Scruffy facial hair and really tan. "I'm agent Gustavo Morelo, of the TIA (Turkish Intelligence Agency) ." He showed his badge. James paused before holstering his weapon. "I thought we'd see a more widespread operation." James said, with a bewildered look on his face. "It was, but they had departed once they learned the FIB was to be upon them." Gustavo went on to explain the lack of any cordial appearance. "You know, I thought they'd send more of you G-Men." He made sure to assert. "I'm just the resurging wave of recon agents." James implied. "There were more on the way, now that this area has been stripped of it's fucking operations I'm not so sure. Why didn't you try to stop them?" James asked. "I am but one man, they had me bested, my agency ordered me to wait until you Americans arrived on your high horses to take all the prestiege." Spat Gustavo with a little sarcasm, and affluent disdain. James was wondering how this operation could get out. Of course the American agencies were glory hounds and would sound off on such operation on the media, but this one should've been discreet. "Do you know where they're going?" James asked, without missing a beat. There was a slight pause from his fellow agent before a reply. He seemed to be in thought. "Well, a majority of them fled back to their home countries: Iran, Iraq, UAE, Sudan. You know?" Gustavo informed him, but then went on, "only a few of them boarded planes and are bound for Los Santos, they're trading with what is believed to be American buyers." This puzzled James, if they were terrorists then what was the point of trading with infidels? Category:Blog posts